In the dark, it was difficult to make out the lay of the property, but after they’d turned off the side road, they followed a long driveway hemmed in by pine trees. Then the headlights shone against a wood-frame storage shed on one side of the driveway and two camping trailers on the other, an Airstream and a Prowler. Speedy stopped the van in a small patch where the snow had been cleared. They got out. The land dipped sharply and a footpath led through the snow. Forty yards farther on, they came to a building perched on a headland over the lake. The windows were boarded over but faint edges of light came through from inside.
The door in the back of the building opened. Gilmore stood there in silhouette. He was wearing a dark jacket and treaded boots. He said: Come in out of the cold, pals.
He led them through a storeroom to what had at one time been a general store and a small restaurant at the front of the building. There were four or five tables with chairs overturned on them. On one of the tables was a rusty metal tool box. There were wooden grocery shelves all stripped bare. There was a range and a round-top Kelvinator propane fridge. At the front of the restaurant, a pay telephone was mounted on the wall.
Two overhead lights were on. If nothing else, the place still had hydro. A space heater in one corner was pumping out warmth.
— You got the van? said Gilmore.
— I got the van.
— And the scanner?
— It works. I’ll show you.
The telephone rang. It was an alien sound, startling. Gilmore looked at his watch. He looked at Lee.
— Take the call, Lee.
The phone rang a second time. Lee went and picked up the receiver. One of the front windows was unboarded. He could see himself in the dark glass.
— Hello?
A pause, then: Lee. It’s Maurice. Is Gilmore there?
— He’s right behind me.
A long hiss of static, and then Maurice said: Well, tell him there’s nothing different.
— He says there’s nothing different.
— Nobody’s been there since they closed at four, said Maurice.
— Nobody’s been there since four.
— Tell him to call again at midnight, said Gilmore.
Lee told him and Maurice said he would. After the call ended, Lee went back over to the table.
Gilmore said how Maurice had set himself up in a room on the fourth floor of the Shamrock Hotel. He’d been able to watch the bank and the alley behind it all day. Based on these details, Lee had a feeling that the bank they were going to was the National Trust-but so far, no one had said it outright.
— So what’s next? said Lee.
— We load up.
Up in the storage shed, Gilmore showed them to a locker framed into the corner. He unlocked the padlock and opened the door. He turned the overhead light bulb to light up the enclosure and what it contained.
There was a canvas duffle bag packed with tools: crowbars, sledgehammers, a power drill with a concrete bit. A second duffle bag was packed with a welding mask and leather coveralls. There was a milk crate containing four Truetone walkie-talkies. The biggest part of their inventory was a homemade burning-bar rig. It consisted of a dolly with an oxygen cylinder strapped to it. Attached to the oxygen cylinder was a hose and a regulator and beside the dolly were five lances bundled together. They were made out of old salvaged iron pipes, each about four feet long, with one end threaded to fit the oxygen hose. The lances could be lit with a portable Victor torch set, the kind you might carry around in the back of a truck.
Lee looked at what was before him. These were tools and he was conscious of the surety in them, of their seriousness. Things were happening now as though they were always meant to happen this way.
They loaded the tools and the bags into the back of the van. The lances were very heavy. When they were finished they pulled a canvas drop cloth over the load.
Speedy went back into the shed as if he’d forgotten something. Gilmore was examining the scanner. Lee lit a cigarette and came around the front of the van and leaned beside the door.
— I suppose maybe you’ve seen the inside of this bank.
— You think we’d be moving on it otherwise?
Lee couldn’t help but prod Gilmore a little further, he didn’t know exactly why. He said: Did the cleaning girl show you in?
Gilmore drew slowly back from the scanner. He said: The cleaning girl.
— The one who killed herself.
— What happened to just watching, pal? Just being our eyes and ears?
Lee lifted his shoulders: I’m going into the shed. I don’t have much love for the cold. When do we get going?
— Twelve-thirty, Lee. Rest up. You have all your questions answered?
— I just want to be sure what I’m dealing with. That’s all.
When he went back inside the shed, he saw Speedy squatting in the middle of the dirt floor, oddly simian. He was doing something with his hands. Lee came up on him.
— Fucking Christ, said Lee. What is that for?
Speedy was pushing bullets into a magazine. A Browning 9mm automatic was balanced on his boot.
— Just for security is all, said Speedy.
Speedy was talking quickly. He fumbled a bullet on the top of the magazine and it bounced on the frozen dirt below. He retrieved it and pushed it at the top of the magazine but it wouldn’t load. He looked contritely upwards at Lee.
— I think she’s full.
The Texaco had not had a customer in close to two hours. In the store the radio was playing “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” Duane was into a car magazine. Pete was looking at the newspaper. Caroline came out from the office with a mickey of rum and a carton of eggnog. She put them on the counter and she mixed three drinks in paper cups.
Outside they heard Jake Brakes, and through the snowfall they saw the lights on the back of a bobtail rig that was slowing down at the edge of the apron. But the rig didn’t pull up to the pumps. They heard its air brakes squeak and then heard it gear up again. The lights moved off towards the highway.
— Gentlemen, said Caroline. How about a Christmas cheer?
— Fuckin’ A, said Duane.
She swatted his hand. They each took a cup and raised it.
Then the door opened and a small figure came in, bundled in a hooded coat. The snow on her shoulders was already melting. She pulled the hood down and smiled.
— Hey, Pete.
Pete was slow to reply: Emily … It’s almost midnight.
— I hitched a ride with a trucker.
Pete and Duane and Caroline all looked at each other.
— How come everybody thinks I was born yesterday? said Emily. Jeez. What I would like, if you don’t mind, is something to drink. I’ll pay for it.
— No you won’t, said Caroline. Come on, have a cheers.
Caroline poured another drink and Emily came and sat with them. She put her coat onto the stool beside her. She was still wearing the cardigan he’d seen her wearing at the church. Her snow boots came up to her knees.
— Merry Christmas.
They raised their glasses. Emily reached over and took Pete’s hand. Her fingers were cold but he could feel the blood pulsing back into them.
They stayed only for the time it took to drink the eggnog and then Caroline told them to leave.
— Go on, she said. Duane and me’ll close up.
— You sure? said Pete. Duane?
— Fuck you, Pete. Merry Christmas.
Pete warmed up his car first and then he drove them back into town. Emily closed her eyes as soon as she sat down, and she took his hand when it was not working the gearshift. Only when he’d stopped in front of her house did she come around.
— Park in that driveway, said Emily. The Jacksons’ house, they’re on vacation.